


The Phenomena

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Season 3 ficlet





	The Phenomena

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Fluff, fluff and more fluff.   


* * *

Justin sat in his studio frustrated. He had a canvas set up and ready to go. He had several promising sketches, in fact the middle finger of his right hand may be *permanently* smudged with charcoal. 

After about 15 minutes of staring at the canvas, staring at his paint, and staring at his dry paintbrush he gave up, walked to the window and stared at the street instead. 

PIFA bustled outside. Students raced back and forth to classes, coffee in hand, IPods attached to every ear. Apparently there was an IPod epidemic; Justin wondered how he missed that memo. 

Contrary to popular opinion, Brian was not always Justin’s muse. In fact since their historic reunification (Justin loved Ben, even if he was with Michael) Justin hadn’t been able to paint a damn thing that didn’t resemble propaganda art. His abstracts were so entirely abstract that they didn’t exist. Brian had, as usual, completely invaded Justin’s senses but this time in his supposedly more-mature-and-content-with-being-the-guy-he-fucks-more-than-once-status he was distracted and edgy and the only time he actually felt content was in physical proximity to Brian. He thought it might have something to do with guilt. 

Justin sighed and looked at the clock, 12:03 and he wasn’t even hungry. Fucking art, fucking Stockwell, and fucking Brian. Jitters started to overtake him and Justin found himself non-committal and wondering if the students he had watched were now regretting all of that caffeine, sitting in class listening to a lecture on Nietzsche. Nietzsche seemed appropriate to Justin’s mood. 

Just as he was about to give up on PIFA for the rest of the day, the door to his studio opened and in waltzed Brian, take out bags in hand, looking slightly stunned at even being there in his flawless Armani. Also contrary to popular opinion, Brian was actually able to express himself with words. He was in advertising after all. Hell, when he was at the top of his game, Brian was advertising. Today he just shook the bag at Justin and said, “I figured you’d be starving by now and my afternoon meeting got cancelled.” Justin smirked. 

Brian found himself wondering when Justin’s smirk had gotten to be as patented as his own. He grinned at him, still reeling from the fact that throughout his morning meeting all he could think about was touching Justin. They both knew the food was an excuse but for once it wasn’t an excuse for Brian to bury himself as deep as he could inside of Justin; this time Brian just felt the need to be near him, look at him, and make up for a little bit of the time spent when he couldn’t touch him at will. 

They ate lunch on the floor. Brian bitched about it quite a lot, but he also moved Justin’s shaggy locks out of his eyes frequently as they talked. Brian thought he might have an obsession with the more bohemian blond hair. Justin told Brian about the phenomena of the IPod and Brian laughed, being a died-in-the-wool Mac fan. Before they knew it, it was 4 pm and Justin’s right hand suddenly itched to create. His eyes glazed over a bit and Brian grinned, again. He knew what that look meant. He allowed himself a brief moment to reflect on the fact that if he stayed this happy he would develop fucking crows feet, but the moment passed and as he pulled out his IPod, he simply settled in to watch Justin begin his latest masterpiece.


End file.
